.  -.-.- 


THE    LIBRARY   OF    THE 

UNIVERSITY    OF 

NORTH    CAROLINA 


PRESENTED  BY 

GRAY  MacW.  BRYAN 

IN  MEMORY  OF 

HIS  GREAT-GRANDFATHER 

JAMES  W.  BRYAN 

CLASS  OF  1824 

CB 

B915b 

c.2 


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in  2012  with  funding  from 

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From  a  Picture  of  the  Writer  Taken  in  1846. 


A  GRANDMOTHER'S 
RECOLLECTION  OF  DIXIE 


By  MARY  NORCOTT  BRYAN. 


lefttraiefo  tn  mg  buvtglftsxa  tuljn  arr  mg 
nimfranuma.  Sto  my  Bona  tnljn  an?  mu 
rnunfiFllnrB,  an&  to  uuj  granft-rhUfcrrtt 
tuljo  an?  tmj  foligfjt. 


3fono  ifr-arta  ano  tntr,  3  gtor  tfjta  little  book  to  mix, 
A  trttorr  tokrn  to  uott  all  so  far  autag — 

3t  mattrra  not  tlfat  otatanrr  lira  brtnirrtt. 
(HJjat  oaga,   ano  montha,  mttat  intrnmtr,  brforr 
w\xt  farr  31  err, — 

(Efjta  UttU  booklet  tfjat  i  arno  to  all, 
3a  it}?  If  rat  tokrn  tljat  utg  fjrart'a  bear  lout  rati  rail 


OWEN  G.  DUNN. 

PRINTER, 
NEW  BERN,   N.  C. 


cs 

LETTER  I. 

MY  DEAR  CHILDREN:— Being  at  leisure  now, 
after  many  years  of  pleasant  work  in  help- 
ing your  Father  to  raise  a  large  family  of 
boys  and  girls,  I  sit  down  in  this  dear  old  room,  with 
the  faces  of  those  I  love  smiling  down  upon  me  from 
the  picture  frames  on  the  wall,  and  the  perfume  of 
sweet  flowers  coming  through  the  lattice  door,  to  recall 
some  recollections  of  old  times  in  Dixie. 

First  stands  out  in  bold  relief  the  delightful  plan- 
tation life  at  Woodlawn.  This  phase  of  society  is  a 
thing  of  the  past,  and  I  grieve  that  you  will  never 
know  the  tender  tie  that  existed  between  mistress  and 
servant.  To  the  credit  of  the  colored  people  be  it  said 
that  during  the  Civil  War,  when  on  plantation  after 
plantation  the  mansions  were  occupied  only  by  wives 
and  daughters,  not  a  disloyal  act  or  word  ever  oc- 
curred. 

One  of  the  first  things  I  remember  was  when  a 
little  girl  of  four,  seated  on  a  pillow  in  front  of  my 
father,  a  pale  dark  man,  riding  through  the  corn  fields, 
watching  the  cotton  and  corn  unfold,  and  grow  beneath 
our  warm  Southern  sun.  Most  of  the  plantations  had 
names  according  to  the  owner.  Our  plantation,  named 
Woodlawn,  consisted  of  four  thousand  acres,  and  was 
beautifully  situated  between  a  river  and  creek.  Our 
man  Tony  would  row  us  for  hours,  winding  up  and 
down  this  beautiful  stream  and  around  an  island  cov- 
ered with  dense  foliage,  and  on  which  there  was  plenty 
of  small  game.  The  meadow  land  was  near  on  which 
grazed  a  large  herd  of  cows  and  sheep.  Old  Shade 
Allen,  an  imported  bull,  was  a  perfect  terror  to  our 


childish  hearts,  so  large  and  fierce  was  he.  Many- 
pounds  of  butter  was  carried  to  market  every  week  by 
Tony,  and  so  fine  it  was  that  it  always  brought  a  higher 
price  than  any  other. 

The  interchange  of  visits  to  other  plantations  was 
most  agreeable,  especially  at  Christmas  time — we  were 
always  sure  of  a  cordial  welcome,  the  servants  were 
so  well  trained  there  was  no  confusion.  The  maids 
looked  very  attractive  wearing  their  white  caps  and 
aprons. 

The  best  was  kept  for  company,  everybody  was 
welcomed,  what  good  dinners,  large  turkeys,  old  hams, 
home-made  pickles,  mince  pies,  syllabub  and  calf  foot 
jelly,  sweet  potatoes  which  we  thought  no  meal  com- 
plete without,  every  delicacy  the  palate  could  crave, 
and  with  it  the  kindest  welcome  to  come  again. 

A  little  later  my  trusty  pony  came  in,  I  would  ride 
him  for  hours  over  the  country  roads,  seeking  jasmine, 
woodbine  and  dogwood  with  never  a  fear  of  anything. 
No  harm  ever  came  to  us,  our  servants  would  guard 
their  little  mistresses  and  masters  entrusted  to  their 
care  with  their  lives. 

LETTER  II. 

DEAR  CHILDREN:— 

Twice  a  year  we  made  visits  to  Fort  Barnwell  and 
Hermitage,  two  noted  old  plantations  belonging  to  the 
Simpsons  and  Biddies.  The  fondest  memories  linger 
around  each.  I  see  my  old  Grandmother  with  her  neat 
cap  strings  tied  under  her  chin,  a  lace  cape  around  her 
shoulders  and  a  pleasant  word  for  everybody,  which 
meant  a  great  deal  of  forbearance  in  the  Mistress  of  a 
large  plantation.    Such  a  busy  life  was  hers,  the  care  of 


many  slaves,  the  responsibility  of  their  souls,  teaching 
them  truth  and  honesty,  watching  over  the  sick,  en- 
tertaining strangers.  No  life  of  ease  I  assure  you,  was 
that  of  the  Mistress  of  a  large  plantation,  her  purse 
was  ever  opened  to  the  distressed,  her  hospitable  doors 
were  never  closed. 

I  well  remember  the  yearly  visit  the  Quakers  paid 
in  going  from  Guilford  County  to  Beaufort.  Hermitage 
was  one  of  their  stopping  places  and  their  quaint  phras- 
eology, "thee  and  thou,"  was  pleasant  to  the  ear. 
Once  there  was  a  meeting  of  some  Primitive  Christians 
and  they  were  politely  entertained,  the  preacher 
prayed  for  "God's  blessing  on  the  King  of  the  house 
and  the  Queen  of  the  range." 

I  have  spent  many  happy  weeks  at  Monticello, 
another  old  plantation.  There  was  a  large  lawn  in  front 
of  the  house  and  two  huge  live  oaks  on  each  side  of 
the  gate  that  led  up  to  the  hospitable  front  door. 

Every  morning  a  negro  boy  rode  up  on  a  pony, 
(the  banks  which  surround  the  coast  of  North  Caro- 
lina are  the  homes  of  these  sturdy  little  horses)  was 
handed  a  bag  with  the  mail,  which  he  took  to  the  near- 
est postomce  and  returne  dnot  only  with  the  letters 
and  papers,  but  with  fruit,  candy  and  sweet  things 
which  the  Postmaster,  who  also  was  a  confectioner, 
had  a  standing  order  to  send.  After  the  war  the  plan- 
tation was  in  a  dilapidated  condition,  and  the  owner 
who  had  come  out  of  the  struggle  covered  with  glory, 
and  little  else,  walked  to  town  and  returned  every  day, 
twenty  miles,  to  get  the  news.  He  was  given  the  name 
of  dirt-road-walker  by  the  Northern  soldiers  stationed 
there.  Afterwards  he  wrote  many  interesting  articles 
under  the  non  de  plume  of  D.  R.  Walker. 


LETTER  III. 

DEAR  CHILDREN:  In  going  from  Woodlawn 
to  Hermitage,  the  road  ran  along  the  river  bank  for 
miles,  the  embankment  was  very  low,  and  the  water 
often  flowed  into  the  road  sometimes  making  it  im- 
passable. 

I  was  always  afraid  of  the  water.  I  remember 
the  only  punishment  my  Father  ever  gave  me  was  for 
crying  in  crossing  a  mountain  stream  on  an  ever  mem- 
orable journey  of  three  weeks  in  a  carriage  to  the  Vir- 
ginia Springs. 

Sometimes  in  going  on  these  visits  to  my  Grand- 
parents, the  water  would  not  only  fill  the  road  but 
come  over  the  hub  of  the  wheels,  and  even  in  the  bot- 
tom of  the  carriage.  A  man  in  a  boat  followed  the 
carriage  for  several  miles,  and  once  we  were  taken 
from  the  vehicle  and  brought  in  safety  to  higher  lands 
in  a  skiff. 

Streets 's  Ferry  was  a  most  trying  place  to  my 
youthful  nerves ;  we  would  arrive  at  the  Ferry,  descend 
from  the  carriage,  watch  Jacob,  the  driver,  go  care- 
fully into  the  flat,  unhitch  the  horses  and  stand  at  their 
heads  while  we,  that  is  always  ''my  Mother  and  I," 
occupied  a  stand  in  the  rear.  Once  the  horses  became 
frightened,  jumped  overboard  and  were  with  some  lit- 
tle difficulty  secured  in  a  cove  into  which  they  had 
swam. 

Fort  Barnwell  is  name  d  for  an  old  fort  built  about 
1712  to  protect  our  people  from  the  Indians,  and 
named  for  Colonel  Barnwell  of  South  Carolina. 

The  Indians  committed  many  depredations, 
among  others,  shooting  a  Mr.  Stevenson,  who,  with  his 

6 


wife  and  baby,  was  standing  in  the  door  of  his  little 
home.  As  a  child  I  made  frequent  visits  to  this  moss- 
eovered  old  fort  and  picked  up  shot  and  shell 

General  Simpson  and  his  father  General  John 
Simpson  of  Pitt  County  were  strong  supporters  of  the 
Church  of  England.  After  the  war  this  church  be- 
came very  upopular,  people  naturally  connecting  it 
with  the  church  of  of  England. 

At  this  early  day  the  question  of  slavery  was  agi- 
tated. I  quote  from  the  will  of  your  Great  Grand- 
father, Rev.  Wm.  P.  Biddle,  written  in  1820: 

"I  will  that  Isabel,  Owen  and  Lillie  be  made 
and  set  free  the  first  court  after  January.  Isabel 
belonged  to  my  Grandfather  and  lived  with  him 
a  faithful  servant  and  has  greatly  assisted  me. 
Lillie  nursed  me  and  belonged  to  my  parents;  I 
desire  her  to  be  free.  At  the  end  of  five  years  I 
desire  Eli  to  be  free,  for  there  are  few  such  ser- 
vants for  faithfulness  and  merit.  I  wish  all  my 
other  servants  to  be  hired  out  for  ten  years,  after 
which  time  I  will  that  all  who  are  now  twenty-one 
years  of  age  shall  be  free,  except  Lewis  and  Wiley 
— then  I  will  that  all  the  balance  shall  be  hired 
out  for  ten  years  from  that  time,  which  bings  the 
year  1847;  then  I  most  earnestly  wish  that  all  shall 
be  free.  I  wish  that  in  this,  and  the  former  freeing 
they  may  be  tendered  to  the  Colonization  Society 
of  Virginia,  they  shall  be  settled  in  the  most  eligi- 
ble place  in  Africa  or  in  the  South  West  of  our 
continent.  I  will  that  all  of  twenty-one  years  of 
age  shall  receive  from  my  estate  six  months'  edu- 
cation. ' ' 

My  Mother  had  a  beautiful  Arabian  mare  given 


her  by  General  Simpson,  which  carried  her  many 
miles,  both  on  pleasure  and  duty.  Her  father,  the  old 
minister,  had  very  strict  ideas  about  bringing  up  chil- 
dren, and  sometimes  when  she  would  be  ready  for  a 
journey,  her  capes,  which  her  own  hands  had  been 
weeks  in  embroidering,  beautifully  done  up,  and 
packed  with  dainty  things  in  her  bag,  she  smilingly 
ready  to  mount  her  horse,  he  would  tell  her  she  need 
not  go,  he  preferred  her  remaining  at  home,  without 
giving  any  reason  at  all.  This  was  discipline,  and  with 
never  a  thought  of  rebelling,  she  would  cheerfully  ac- 
quiesce. I  scarcely  thing  that  girls  of  the  present  day 
would  be  so  amiable.  I  am  sure  I  would  not.  This  dear 
old  grandfather,  General  Simpson,  though  possessed  of 
ample  means,  had  these  same  ideas  about  discipling 
youth;  he  offered  my  mother  a  fine  hat  if  she  would 
make  him  a  set  of  shirts,  which  she  did,  every  thread 
pulled,  and  every  stitch  taken  by  her  dear  hands,  it 
took  weeks  to  make  them,  as  there  were  no  sewing 
machines  in  those  days.  General  Simpson  was  a  very 
handsome  old  man,  tall,  with  piercing  black  eyes  and 
white  hair  tied  in  a  que,  which  he  wore  to  the  day 
of  his  death.  In  earlier  life  he  wore  knee  breeches, 
silk  stockings  and  silver  buckles. 

LETTER  IV. 

DEAR  CHILDREN:— My  Father's  health  began 
to  fail  very  soon  after  I  was  born  and  the  physicians 
advised  a  trip  to  the  Green  Briar  White  Sulphur 
Springs  in  Virginia.  How  well  I  remember  the  jour- 
ney there,  though  only  four  years  old;  it  took  three 
weeks  to  make  it  and  we  went  in  our  own  carriage. 
John  Brimage,  a  bright  little  man,  was  our  driver. 
Buck  and  Rock,  our  sturdy  horses,  took  us  safely  along 

8 


and  we  arrived  there  one  lovely  evening  in  June.  In 
a  short  while  Father  began  to  decline  rapidly,  and  on 
the  6th  of  July,  1845,  passed  away.  I  followed  the 
path  up  the  lonely  mountain  side  and  he  was  laid  away 
under  a  big  oak  tree,  where  the  bleak  winds  of  winter 
and  the  soft  breezes  of  summer  keep  up  a  sacred  vigil. 
I  have  so  much  desired  to  visit  this  hallowed  spot, 
but  the  changes  which  this  cruel  war  has  made  has 
prevented  that  and  much  else  I  desired  to  do.  We  had 
a  tomb  stone  hauled  in  a  wagon  from  Richmond.  I 
mention  this  that  you  may  see  how  difficult  transpor- 
tation was  in  those  days. 

I  want  you  to  understand,  dear  children,  that  a 
self-made  man  is  the  noblest  work  of  God;  your  Grand- 
father was  very  unhappy  when  a  little  boy,  his  step- 
father was  cruel  to  him,  so  although  but  ten  years  of 
age,  he  ran  away  from  home.  You  can  imagine  how 
well  he  succeeded,  when  I  tell  you  that  at  the  age  of 
eighteen,  he  was  sent  in  charge  of  a  large  sailing  ves- 
sel to  the  West  Indies.  This  same  vessel  ran  the  block- 
ade successfully  and  brought  out  a  cargo  of  rum  and 
molasses,  which  netted  his  employer  many  thousands 
of  dollars. 

Mr.  Lovejoy,  whose  name  is  well  known,  through- 
out the  South,  was  brought  here  through  the  instru- 
mentality of  your  Grandfather,  the  little  boy  of  whom 
I  have  been  telling  you;  afterwards,  he  moved  to  Ral- 
eigh, through  the  influence  of  your  other  Grandfather, 
John  H.  Bryan,  whose  eight  sons  he  prepared  for 
Chapel  Hill. 

And  now  I  return  to  Woodlawn  for  a  while.  The 
house  was  situated  about  the  middle  of  the  plantation 
and  was  approached  by  a  long,  straight  avenue  of 


pines  for  a  mile  or  two.  How  beautiful  were  the  long 
drives  up  and  down!  There  were  so  many  successions 
of  interest  on  a  plantation.  The  drives  to  the  landing 
where  large  flats  were  being  filled  with  cotton  and 
corn  for  market,  such  fun  driving  the  gin  horses  round 
and  round,  and  rolling  down  huge  hills  of  cotton  seed, 
and  watching  the  looms  weave  thick,  strong  cloth  for 
winter  use.  What  a  jolly  time  was  hog  killing,  the 
delicious  hams  put  up  by  a  receipt  handed  down  from 
father  to  son  and  quite  equal  to  the  Smithfield.  The 
great  pots  of  boiling  lard  with  a  bay  leaf  thrown  in 
for  perfume,  several  huge  blocks  of  wood  in  the  yard 
and  fat  smiling  mammies  with  red  bandannas  on  their 
heads,  singing  sweet  old  negro  melodies,  and  chopping 
up  sausage  meat.  The  torn  thumb  is  a  thing  of  the 
past,  so  seldom  eaten  now. 

Christmas,  what  a  time  of  good  cheer! 
the  most  delightful  season  of  the  whole  year. 
The  turpentine  hands  came  home  then,  with 
plenty  of  money  in  their  pockets,  made  from  extra 
work.  Such  getting  married,  midnight  suppers  and 
dances,  visiting  other  plantations,  and  careless  happy 
living,  with  not  a  thought  for  the  future.  How  cun- 
ning I  though  the  little  darkey  babies,  what  a 
privilege  to  sit  in  old  Aunt  Kachel's  cabin,  and  rock 
the  cradles — first  one  and  then  another;  the  mothers 
brought  them  to  be  taken  care  of  while  they  were  in 
the  fields.  The  two  big  oak  trees,  the  well  from  which 
water  was  being  drawn,  the  cool  pleasant  lane,  in 
which  the  little  darkies  and  dogs  played,  were  much 
more  enjoyable  than  the  present-day  sports  of  the 
negro.  Sometimes  on  the  streets  now  I  meet  a  darkey 
to  whom  I  have  given  a  name.    This  very  afternoon  I 

10 


had  a  very  gracious  bow  from  ''Edward  Stanley."  I 
learned  to  sew  by  making  the  babies  I  had  named 
clothes,  and  I  am  not  ashamed  even  now  of  my  sewing. 
This  era  of  sewing  machines  has  in  a  great  measure 
ruled  out  the  old-fashioned  hem-stitching,  over-cast- 
ing, herin-boning,  darning  and  so  on. 

Of  course  you  will  understand  that  traveling  done 
in  those  days  was  on  horseback,  gig,  private  carriage, 
and  stage  coach.  The  horn  blew  as  the  stage  ap- 
proached town,  the  horses  came  in  with  a  gallop,  every 
head  was  at  a  window,  everybody  flew  to  the  post- 
office  to  ask  the  news,  and  such  an  important  time  it 
was. 

LETTER  V. 

DEAR  CHILDREN:— When  I  was  a  little  girl 
at  TToodlawn,  six  years  old,  I  had  a  teacher,  Miss  WaL 
lingford,  from  Lowell,  Mass.  She  came  to  us  in  poor 
health  and  great  distress  of  mind;  her  lover  had  either 
died  or  deserted  her.  She  was  treated  with  great  kind- 
ness; our  seamstress  was  put  to  work  making  garments 
for  her;  she  was  helped  in  many  ways  and  her  grate- 
ful letters  continued  to  come  for  some  years  after  her 
return  to  Lowell. 

In  the  dear  old  Dixie  days,  and  before  that,  com- 
pany was  considered  a  great  treat,  the  best  room,  best 
food  and  heartiest  welcome  awaited  them.  I  have  the 
tenderest  recollections  of  "Auld  Lang  Syne."  The 
old-fashioned  house  in  which  I  was  born  with  the  low 
windows  opening  on  a  broad  veranda  with  steps  into 
the  flower  garden,  in  the  center  of  which  stood  a  huge 
fringe  tree,  roses  and  bright  flowers  clustered  around. 
Then  a  gate  into  the  vegetable  garden,  Oh!  what  veg- 

11 


etables,  fruits  and  berries,  we  had  in  succession  month 
by  month.  There  were  goose-berry  and  currant 
bushes,  two  large  asparagus  beds,  and  everything 
in  such  perfect  order. 

Our  cook,  Eachel,  whose  equal  in  preparing  savory 
dishes  I  have  never  seen,  was  fond  of  imbibing  too 
freely  of  "mountain  rye"  at  times,  and  such  fun  I  had 
in  placing  a  big  black  doll  in  the  path  of  the  kitchen, 
to  hear  her  clap  her  hands  and  cry,  "De  debil  is  gwine 
to  git  me  sho!"  Later  when  the  poor  old  woman  was 
an  inmate  of  the  Poor  House,  I  sent  her  a  weekly  al- 
lowance of  coffee  and  sugar. 

When  Amy,  my  black  mammy  died,  I  was  sent  for, 
and  mingled  my  tears  along  with  the  dusky  mourners 
about  her  coffin.  In  great  contrast  indeed,  to  this  one 
day  just  after  my  return  home  after  the  close 
of  the  war  and  during  that  awful  reconstruc- 
tion period,  I  was  walking  along  quietly  on 
Broad  street,  when  a  fat  buxon  mulatto  wench  came 
up  to  me,  and  shaking  her  fist  in  my  face  ordered  me 
off  the  side-walk.  I  quickly  looked  up  and  seeing  no 
white  person  visible,  and  the  streets  full  of  negroes, 
as  a  church  had  just  emptied  itself  into  the  streets,  I 
stepped  aside  into  the  gutter  and  went  home.  I  will 
not  tell  what  I  thought  on  that  occasion. 

We  left  the  low  country  in  the  summer  and  re- 
mained until  frost,  which  generally  took  place  in  Oc- 
tober, and  oh!  what  fun  the  three  days  going  to  the 
hills  was.  The  railroad  was  not  built  through  the 
western  part  of  the  State,  so  the  people  of  the  tide- 
water section  went  to  Hillsboro,  Oxford,  Warrenton, 
Jones  and  Shocco  Springs.  Old  Frank  Johnson's  band 
discoursed  sweet  music.    Frank  was  a  slave  who  hired 

12 


his  time  from  his  master,  and  with  half  a  dozen  sons 
equally  musical,  was  known  and  sought  after  through- 
out the  middle  of  the  State.  It  took  us  three  days  to 
make  the  journey  from  our  home  to  Shocco  Springs. 
I  got  awfully  tired  and  restless  being  shut  up  in  a 
close  carriage  for  that  length  of  time,  but  we  had  reg- 
ular places  to  stop  on  our  way  to  and  fro,  and  the 
noon-day  stop  by  the  side  of  a  shady  tree  on  the  road- 
side was  restful. 

The  refined  and  cultivated  society  which  frequent- 
ed Jones  and  Shocco  Springs  cannot  be  excelled.  The 
large  dancing  hall  was  filled  nightly  with  belles  and 
beaux;  how  well  I  remember  the  green  lawn,  the  half 
dozen  swings  suspended  from  the  limbs  of  the  oak  tree, 
the  band  stand  from  which  Frank  Johnson's  band  sent 
forth  its  inspiring  music;  the  candy  stand  presided 
over  by  Oscar  Alston,  and  everybody  so  kind  and 
pleasant. 

Last  winter,  while  spending  a  few  days  with  a 
cousin  of  mine,  I  met  at  church  a  friend  who  belonged 
to  the  days  of  my  childhood,  and  who  brought  back  so 
vividly  those  journeys  up  and  down  the  country.  She 
told  me  her  history  since  I  had  met  her,  which  is  so 
interesting  that  I  write  it  here  for  your  benefit.  Not 
long  before  the  Civil  War  she  married  a  young  Doctor 
and  lived  happily  and  comfortably  on  a  large  farm 
with  their  slaves.  One  colored  boy,  who  went  with  the 
Doctor  on  his  round  of  professional  visits,  was  es- 
pecially attached  to  them.  "When  Sherman's  bum- 
mers came  along,  they  were  drunken  and  unmanage- 
able and  ordered  the  negroes  to  leave  the  place,  which 
they  all  did  but  this  boy;  he  refused  and  the  bummers 
ordered  him  to  be  shot.     Preparations  were  made  to 

13 


carry  out  this  order;  lie  was  placed  in  position,  when 
my  friend  ran  and  pnt  her  body  in  front  of  him  and 
told  these  lawless  creatures  that  they  would  have  to 
shoot  her  also.  They  finally  left  without  performing 
the  threat.  In  a  few  years  the  Doctor  died,  the  negro 
went  North  to  seek  his  fortune,  and  the  widow,  feeling 
no  security  in  the  country,  moved  into  a  town  to  live. 
The  boy  became  quite  prosperous  and  finally  opened 
a  men's  furnishing  shop  in  Boston.  He  returned 
South,  bought  the  old  plantation  and  offered  it  to  his 
mistress  for  her  life  time.  He  asked  her  to  visit  his 
city,  offering  to  entertain  her  at  any  hotel,  and  he  sends 
her  a  check  every  three  months. 

Our  faithful  servant,  Hollen,  was  without  an  equal 
in  my  opinion.  She  was  a  most  beautiful  seamstress, 
there  was  nothing  in  the  way  of  fine  work  she  could 
not  do.  I  have  known  her  to  be  a  week  in  making  a 
pair  of  pantlettes  for  me,  "  ladder  stitch,"  an  Si  herin- 
bone  always  being  used  to  put  the  insertion  together. 
Ske  said,  "I  do  not  feel  free  unless  I  go  North" — I  ad- 
vised her  to  go  and  she  secured  a  home  with  a  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  White,  at  Chepachet,  R.I.  They  were,  as 
many  others  at  that  time,  interested  in  asking  how  the 
negroes  were  treated  by  their  owners  in  slavery  times. 
So  on  long  winter  nights  Hollen  would  regale  them 
with  tales  of  our  plantation  life,  and  their  surprise  was 
great  when  they  found  how  kind  we  were  to  the  slaves. 
No  subject  has  ever  been  so  misrepresented  as  has  this 
one.  I  corresponded  with  Mrs.  White  and  when  my  old- 
est boy  went  to  Bingham  School,  I  sent  her  his  picture 
in  uniform;  she  showed  the  picture  to  Mr.  White,  and 
a  few  days  after  I  received  a  letter  from  him  offering 
to  adopt  my  son  and  do  a  good  part  by  him,  as  he  was 

14 


childless  and  wealthy.    I  was  much  pleased  but  I  had 
given  up  too  much  to  give  up  my  boy  also. 

Quite  a  noted  colored  man  was  Arthur  Simmons, 
who  served  as  janitor  of  the  "White  House"  through 
the  term  of  four  Presidents.  He  belonged  to  Mr.  Att- 
more,  of  New  Bern,  North  Carolina,  who  was  a  great 
friend  of  mine  when  I  was  a  young  lady,  and  many  a 
waiter  of  dainties,  interesting  books,  birds  and  squir- 
rels did  he  bring  me.  You  can  imagine  how  my  meet- 
ing him  at  Washington  some  years  ago  brought  up 
many  recollections  of  the  past.  My  son  was  with  me 
and  Arthur  could  not  do  enough  to  make  our  visit 
interesting.  In  passing  through  several  of  the  rooms 
we  met  a  gentleman  who  proved  to  be  the  Secretary 
of  War,  Alger.  After  our  departure,  he  said  to  Arthur 
"Who  was  that  lady  and  gentleman  who  seemed  glad 
to  see  you  and  to  whom  you  were  so  very  polite?" 
Arthur  told  him  with  much  gusto,  and  Mr.  Alger  re- 
plied, "We  Northern  people  must  have  misunderstood 
the  friendly  relation  that  existed  between  master  and 
slave. ' ' 

LETTER  VI. 

DEAR  CHILDREN:— 

Another  event  occurred  which  brings  up  the  lowly 
Christian  character  of  my  Mother.  Among  our  slaves 
was  one  named  Reuben.  I  had  lost  sight  of  him  dur- 
ing the  war;  one  day  not  long  since  the  door  bell  rang 
and  the  servant  said  there  was  a  colored  man  at  the 
door  who  wished  to  speak  to  me.  I  found  it  was  Reu- 
ben, who  told  me  he  had  been  a  very  bad  man  since  he 
was  free,  and  that  he  was  only  then  out  of  the  Peniten- 
tiary.   He  said,  "I  have  had  time  to  think  and  I  have 

15 


determined  to  be  a  better  man.  I  have  thought  a  great 
deal  about  my  old  missus,  how  she  used  to  read  the 
Bible  and  pray  for  us,  and  as  she  is  gone,  I  concluded 
to  tell  you  my  resolution."  I  shook  hands  with  him 
and  wished  him  God  speed.  I  have  not  heard  if  he 
adhered  to  his  resolution. 

Since  the  war,  on  one  occasion  when  my  Mother  and 
I  were  on  our  way  to  the  seashore,  a  nice  looking  man 
came  up  and  spoke  to  my  mother.  She  failed  to  recog- 
nize him,  when  he  said,  "What,  do  you  not  remember 
the  poor  student  whose  tuition  you  paid,  to  whom  you 
gave  comfort  in  many  ways  and  helped  by  your  advice 
and  prayers  to  lead  a  good  life  ? "  I  recall  this  as  one  of 
the  many  instances  of  my  dear  Mother's  charity.  I 
read  a  dear  little  book  once,  written  by  Miss  Mullock, 
called  "My  Mother  and  I,"  which  described  the  rela- 
tions between  us.  Never  was  there  sweeter  sympathy 
than  between  this  Mother  and  daughter. 

We  made  many  pleasure  trips  to  the  Northern  cities 
before  the  War,  and  always  took  a  maid,  and  as  one  of 
our  own  slaves  would  have  produced  unpleasant  com- 
plications, Bettie,  a  daughter  of  old  Oscar  Alston  was 
our  attendant.  I  have  a  dim  recollection  of  a  fall  spent 
in  Philadelphia  where  my  Mother  was  under  the  care 
of  the  celebrated  Dr.  Hodges.  We  boarded  with  a 
Quaker  lady  named  Sedgswick.  I  remember  that  on 
each  side  of  her  fire-place  was  a  cupboard  in  which 
she  kept  cakes  and  sweet  meats,  and  try  as  hard  as  I 
could,  my  childish  arms  were  too  short  to  reach  them. 
I  made  a  later  visit  to  this  same  city  and  had  a  very 
humiliating  experience.  One  Sunday  afternoon  I  was 
walking  on  one  of  the  streets  with  some  North  Car- 
olina friends.    Just  as  we  got  opposite  a  large  church, 

16 


a  Sunday  School  turned  out,  the  children  looked  at 
me  and  seemed  to  find  great  amusement  in  comment- 
ing on  my  attire.  I  turned  very  red  and  wondered 
what  could  be  the  matter,  as  also  did  my  companions. 
After  returning  to  the  hotel  I  found  that  the  reign  of 
pantlettes  was  over,  I  had  worn  mine  just  a  few  weeks 
too  long. 

LETTER  VIL 

DEAR  CHILDREN:— I  quote  from  a  letter  writ- 
ten  in  1837  from  New  York: 

"Dearly  Esteemed  Friend:  Pardon  me  that  I 
have  delayed  this  long  in  writing  to  you,  it  has  not 
been  from  want  of  inclination,  but  solely  on  account 
of  troubles  and  vexations  incident  to  travelers  at  this 
time  of  the  year.  After  leaving  your  kind  and  hospit- 
able mansion,  we  pursued  our  weary  way  through 
snow  and  mud  to  Tarboro,  found  little  of  interest  there. 
Next  day  we  had  a  very  agreeable  passenger  in  the 
person  of  a  Mr.  Branch  to  a  place  called  Scotland 
Neck.  He  much  amused  us  in  relating  occurrences  and 
old  reminiscences  of  the  country  through  which  we 
passed.  We  arrived  safe  at  Halifax,  passing  on  by 
way  of  Blakely  to  Petersburg,  through  an  incessant 
rain,  though  the  statecoach  was  quite  dry.  Had  a  gen- 
tleman passenger  who  was  very  amusing,  he  could 
quote  poetry,  sing  songs  and  talk  Latin  and  Greek; 
they  were  of  his  own  productions,  he  said,  and  quite 
witty  descriptions  of  former  sweethearts.  He  parted 
from  us  at  Richmond.  Of  all  places  I  am  less  pleased 
with  this  than  any  other  of  like  importance;  it  is  a 
muddy,  dirty,  dusty  place,  and  we  did  not  see  build- 
ings of  much  importance.    An  excellent  railroad  took 

17 


up  to  Fredericksburg,  and  we  were  glad  to  be  hurriedi 
away  from  a  place  we  were  anxious  to  leave.  Here  saw 
only  the  monument  erected  to  Mary,  the  mother  of 
Washington,  and  viewed  that  only  in  the  distance;  it 
was  impossible  to  get  nearer  on  account  of  the  muddy 
roads.  Then  we  took  a  stage  coach  to  Washington 
City,  which  is  sixty-five  miles  distant;  it  took  us  two 
days  to  reach  there,  the  traveling  horrid,  passed  many 
interesting  spots,  Mount  Vernon,  also  Creek  Church 
where  General  Washington  used  to  attend.  It  is  an 
ancient  brick  building,  nothing  interesting  or  striking 
about  it;  though  we  gazed  at  all  these  places  as  though 
determined  to  find  something  to  say  about  them  not 
familiar  to  everyone,  but  in  vain,  as  the  subject  has 
long  been  exhausted. 

"Alexandria  was  once  a  place  of  much  import- 
ance, beautifully  situated  on  the  Potomac,  but  it  seems 
to  berapidly  going  back  to  its  original  element — from 
thence,  almost  all  the  seven  miles  to  the  great  city  in 
view  before  us,  was  filled  with  many  and  celebrated 
places,  we  crossed  the  Potomac  on  a  bridge  one  and 
one  quarter  miles  long.  Could  not  get  any  accommo- 
dations at  the  hotels,  but  finally  found  a  very  nice 
boarding  house;  we  then  sallied  out  to  see  some  of  the 
wonders  of  the  place.  To  attempt  a  description  of 
what  you  have  often  seen  and  heard  would  be  useless, 
we  spent  one  day  in  the  Senate  Chamber,  the  early 
part  in  the  House,  and  other  in  going  to  see  the  far- 
famed  East  Eoom  with  all  its  splendors.  We  were 
denied  the  gratifification  of  seeing  the  old  General  (he 
was  indisposed).  Saw  in  the  Navy  Department  the 
portraits  of  all  the  Indian  delegates  that  have  ever 
visited  this  city,  it  was  indeed  amusing,  and  that  of 

18 


itself  is  sufficient  to  amply  compensate  one  for  all  the 
discomforts  of  the  trip.  It  was  truly  a  sight  at  which 
one  could  gaze,  but  not  describe.  I  think  you  would 
enjoy  a  visit  to  Washington  at  this  season  of  the  year, 
February;  a  very  cold  place  it  is  when  walking  up  the 
great  grand  avenue.  The  capitol  is  a  splendid  build- 
ing; saw  much  beauty  and  fashion,  and  many  of  our 
great  men.  From  Baltimore  we  come  across  to  Phila- 
delphia by  land,  in  one  day,  a  hard  rain,  the  roads 
were  bad;  the  gentleman  passengers,  sixteen  in  num- 
ber, walked  and  slid,  while  I  rode,  mounted  on  the 
baggage  sleigh,  drawn  by  an  old  gray  horse,  who  was 
not  as  much  pleased  with  the  sport  as  myself;  and 
finally  reaching  home  in  New  York  wihtout  any  acci- 
dent, for  so  great  a  blessing,  I  trust  we  are  thankful. 
We  stopped  at  the  American  Hotel  first  and  now  are 
pleasantly  fixed  at  213  Fulton  street,  west-side.  I  have 
a  front  room,  am  seated  before  a  nice  grate  with  a 
bright  fire  burning  cheerfully,  am  very  comfortable, 
so  much  so  as  to  almost  forget  it  is  snowing  and  storm- 
ing outdoors.  Board  is  much  more  expensive  than 
when  we  left  New  York  in  November;  we  now  pay 
twelve  dollars  per  week;  house  rent  is  enormous,  too 
high  for  us  to  take  a  house  this  spring.  I  found  my 
niece,  Elizabeth  Clute,  at  home  and  engaged  to  be 
married  to  a  young  gentleman  from  England;  he  is 
only  twenty-four,  she  is  sixteen,  too  young  I  think; 
the  match  is  pleasing  to  all,  they  are  to  be  married  in 
St.  John's  Church,  great  preparations  are  being  made 
for  the  ceremony.  There  has  been  but  a  few  pleasant 
days  since  our  return  home;  very  muddy  walking. 
Yesterday  was  like  a  Spring  day.  Broadway  appeared 
fine,  such  gay  things  of  elegantly  dressed  ladies,  every 
variety  of  costume.    I  wish  for  you,  my  dear  Mrs.  Nor- 

19 


eott,  indeed  I  never  walk  out  on  a  pleasant  day,  with- 
out wishing  for  you.  Wish  we  all  were  with  you,  if 
only  for  one  day,  to  have  a  good  old-fashioned  chat 
and  enjoy  your  good  society;  trust  I  shall  have  that 
pleasure  in  New  York  in  a  time  not  far  distant.  I 
assure  you  of  the  grateful  sense  we  have  of  all  your 
kindness  and  polite  attention  and  that  of  your  friends, 
to  us,  the  remembrance  of  it  will  never  be  erased  from 
our  memory.  Farewell,  and  God  bless  you  dear 
friends. ' ' 

This  is  one  of  the  many  letters  I  found  in  my 
Mother's  trunk  after  her  death. 

' '  They  never  quite  leave  us,  our  friends  who  have 

passed, 
Through  the  shadows  of  death — to  the  sunlight 

above, 
A  thousand  sweet  memories  are  holding  them  fast, 
To  the  places  they  blessed  with  their  presence  and 

love." 
Myrtle  Villa,  April  27,  1908. 

LETTER  VIII. 

DEAR  CHILDREN:— I  had  led  such  a  happy  rov- 
ing life  that  my  education  was  sadly  neglected,  so 
when  I  was  thirteen  years  old,  I  was  put  in  a  boarding 
school,  and  my  Mother,  who  was  recovering  from  a 
severe  attack  of  illness,  was  taken  to  the  Greenbriar 
White  Sulphur  Springs.  My  experience  at  this  school 
was  very  sad  indeed;  the  teacher  became  offended  with 
me  in  some  way  and  made  my  life  miserable.  She  told 
some  of  the  girls  I  was  not  in  good  health,  and  if  I  died, 
she  had  decided  what  dress  to  put  on  me,  and  as  I 

20 


would  take  a  dress  which  had  been  fashioned  so  ten- 
derly by  my  Mother's  hands  from  my  trunk,  I  would 
wonder  if  that  was  the  one  chosen  for  that  sad  occa- 
sion. 

But  my  most  delightful  experience,  and  which 
quite  made  up  for  anything  bad  that  had  gone  before, 
was  my  school  life  at  Washington  City.  This  was  a 
seelct  school,  kept  by  an  English  lady,  Mrs.  Kingsford. 
I  had  such  lovely  school  mates,  I  correspond  with 
some  of  them  now.  We  attended  President  Buchanan's 
levees,  admired  Miss  Lane's  graciousness,  took  walks 
to  the  Capitol  and  heard  great  speeches,  went  to  art 
galleries,  and  best  of  all  had  an  informal  soiree  every 
month  at  the  school,  to  which  our  sweethearts  always 
managed  to  come.  I  had  my  first  real  love  affair  then, 
Mr.  Corcoran 's  nephew  was  the  subject,  and  how  we 
managed  to  evade  the  teachers  and  pass  notes  even  at 
the  church  door,  is  a  mystery  to  me  even  now.  I  read 
Miss  Clay 's  book  lately  about  the  times  then  and  many 
of  the  names  are  very  familiar.  Macon  Thompson, 
son  of  the  Secretary  of  Interior,  married  my  room- 
mate and  their  beautiful  daughter  lives  in  Kentucky. 
I  shall  never  forget  Mrs.  Kingsford 's  gooseberry  and 
pie  plant  pies,  especially  as  each  pie  was  divided  into 
eight  pieces  and  we  were  only  allowed  one  piece.  Her 
plum  puddings,  made  by  English  receipt,  were  dreams; 
she  would  give  no  one  the  formula;  twelve  were  made 
and  one  cooked  each  week  until  used  up.  The  boxes 
of  good  things  I  received  from  home  were  something 
to  be  remembered;  gold  cake  and  fruit  cake,  great 
packages  of  home-made  candy,  jelly,  nuts  and  every- 
thing nice  one  could  think  of,  and  with  every  taste  of 
the  food  I  had  a  loving  thought  of  my  Mother.    Some- 

21 


times  the  teacher  would  take  us  to  Baltimore  on  a  lark 
and  once  we  went  on  the  steamer  to  Mount  Vernon. 
Then  at  our  commencement  at  the  Smithsonian  Insti- 
tute, I  made  the  one  triumph  of  my  life,  which  was 
due  to  the  fact  that  the  subject  of  my  composition — 
"A  Trip  Through  Time's  Spy  Glass"  was  a  pleasant 
hit  at  the  girls. 

My  school  days  ended,  I  became  a  young  lady.  I 
was  so  happy,  the  world  was  so  beautiful,  every  one 
was  so  kind,  that  I  smiled  all  the  time.  Life  held  noth- 
ing but  roses  and  sunshine  for  me,  and  with  the  most 
indulgent  and  intelligent  Mother  in  the  world,  I  had 
nothing  to  desire. 

I  enjoyed  my  winter  at  home  immensely,  the  free- 
dom from  school  was  delightful,  went  to  parties,  took 
sails  on  the  river,  danced  the  dear  old  dances,  Virginia 
Reel,  Lancers,  Cotillion  and  waltzed  in  a  dignified  way, 
played  Consequences,  Stage  Coach,  Grand  Mufto,  and 
so  on,  and  at  home  Backgammon  with  Mother. 

Then  the  summer  at  the  Virginia  Springs,  mostly 
spent  at  the  Alleghany,  Montgomery  White  Sulphur 
and  Yellow  Sulphur,  the  most  bewitching  spot  in  all 
that  lovely  country.  Oh!  how  I  did  ride  horseback 
and  drive  in  those  days,  it  seems  to  me  the  horses  were 
better  then  than  now. 

Then  in  October,  we  went  to  New  York  and  stayed 
at  the  St.  Nicholas;  I  had  several  months  before  this 
become  engaged  to  your  Father.  We  met  many  Spring 
acquaintances  in  New  York  and  had  a  royal  good  time. 
I  had  lovely  clothes  and  what  dreams  of  beauty  my 
dresses  were,  and  how  unconscious  I  was  of  any  per- 

22 


sonal  charm,  if  I  possessed  any,  or  anything  else  ex- 
cept to  be  happy  all  the  day  long. 

In  November  I  was  married  to  your  Father.  We 
spent  two  months  visiting  the  Southern  cities,  New 
Orleans,  Mobile,  Montgomery,  Selma  and  other  places. 
I  enjoyed  the  French  Theatre,  and  the  quaint  old 
things  about  New  Orleans  very  much.  The  slave  mar- 
ket I  did  not  like,  that  was  raelly  the  only  objection- 
able thing  about  slavery,  the  being  bought  and  sold. 
We  met  many  of  your  Father's  Chapel  Hill  college 
friends,  and  the  voyage  of  six  days  from  Memphis 
down  the  Mississippi  on  the  steamer  Ingomar  was  an 
experience.  There  were  seven  brides  and  grooms  on 
board.  I  was  much  disappointed  at  the  appearance  of 
the  "Father  of  Waters,"  it  can't  compare  with  our 
own  beautiful  Neuse,  it  is  much  muddier  and  deeper, 
and  the  color  of  the  water  cruel  and  dark.  Many  beat- 
ing hearts  and  happy  voices  have  been  stilled  beneath 
its  waters. 

While  we  were  staying  at  the  St.  Nich- 
olas in  New  York,  I  met  an  exceedingly  handsome  girl 
from  South  Carolina  named  Victoria  Jordan.  We  were 
getting  our  wedding  trousseaus  at  the  same  time,  and 
she  and  her  young  husband  followed  on  our  same 
route  down  the  Mississippi  about  a  week  later;  the 
steamer  took  fire  and  many  perished,  among  them  our 
friends.  As  the  fire  approached  that  part  of  the  boat 
on  which  they  were  standing,  and  the  scorching  heat 
became  unbearable,  they  clasped  hands,  took  one  last 
lingering  kiss  and  plunged  into  a  watery  grave. 

We  had  a  gay  time  at  New  Orleans,  went  there 
twice,  stopping  both  times  at  the  St.  Charles.  The 
French  Theater  was  fine,  and  the  Levees  along  the 

23 


river  very  interesting;  met  several  acquaintances;  one 
Chapel  Hill  student,  a  friend  of  my  husband's,  had 
had  a  quarrel  with  his  sweetheart,  which  I  tried  in 
vain  to  reconcile. 

Mobile  was  charming  with  the  wide  shady 
streets  and  bay  glimmering  in  the  sunshine,  the 
sweet  old  homes  and  the  dear  people.  I  met  Edith 
Whitfield  there.  The  home  of  her  father,  General 
Nathan  Whitfield  at  Demopolis  was  something  to  re- 
member, a  plantation  containing  nine  hundred  slaves, 
all  polite  and  happy,  a  lovely  house  with  everything 
in  it  heart  could  desire,  a  ball-room,  the  white  pillars 
reaching  to  the  ceiling,  broad  verandas,  a  sweet  place 
in  which  to  while  away  the  sultry  hours,  a  lake  in 
front,  surrounded  by  evergreens,  on  which  swam 
swans  and  ducks.  We  were  in  the  midst  of  a  freshet 
on  the  Alabama  river,  for  miles  the  earth  was  covered 
with  water,  people  going  about  in  boats,  and  the 
steamer  could  only  be  guided  in  its  course  by  the  line 
of  trees  on  the  river  banks;  I  was  quite  cured  of  any 
desire  to  live  there. 

x\fter  two  months  spent  in  pleasant  meandering, 
we  returned  to  North  Carolina  and  settled  down  to  the 
e very-day  life  of  married  people.  In  '61  my  little  boy, 
Norcott,  was  presented  to  me  and  he  filled  out  my  full 
measure  of  happiness,  how  fondly  we  stood  over  his 
cradle,  and  Mammy  Amy,  who  had  nursed  me,  de- 
clared he  was  a  wonder;  we  called  his  name,  watched 
each  look  and  smile,  admired  his  cute  little  ways  and 
thought  there  never  was  such  a  wonderful  baby.  I  am 
sure  there  never  was  such  a  fond  young  Mother.  His 
carriage  and  other  presents  were  on  the  last  vessel 
that  came  from  New  York  before  the  blockade. 

24 


LETTER  IX, 

MY  DEAR  CHILDREN:— The  winter  of  '61  was 
a  most  anxious  one,  we  did  not  know  what  would  be 
the  result  of  so  much  political  agitation.  In  the  mean- 
time, work  was  continued  at  Woodlawn.  Soon  we 
heard  news  that  Fort  Sumpter  had  fallen,  then  people 
began  to  talk  of  war  and  went  to  raising  companies 
and  regiments.  New  Bern,  being  in  an  exposed  posi- 
tion, it  was  thought  best  for  as  many  women  and  chil- 
dren as  could  leave  to  do  so.  In  March,  '62  the  battle 
of  New  Bern  occurred  and  such  a  time  of  confusion 
and  trouble!  We  had  had  extra  dinners  prepared, 
expecting  to  feed  the  Confederate  soldiers.  Instead  of 
that,  there  was  a  perfect  panic  and  stampede,  women, 
children,  nurses,  and  baggage  getting  to  the  depot  any 
way  they  could.  Our  home  and  hundreds  of  others 
were  left  with  the  dinners  cooking,  doors  open  and 
everything  to  give  our  Northern  friends  a  royal  feast, 
which  I  understand  they  thoroughly  enjoyed. 

Our  house  was  nicely  furnished,  a  year's  provis- 
ions in  the  smokehouse,  in  the  pantry  all  sorts  of  jel- 
lies, pickles,  catsups,  cordials  and  so  on,  and  we  panic- 
stricken,  running  away  with  a  few  trunks  of  hastily 
packed  clothing. 

Some  sad  and  ludicrous  scenes  occurred.  One  lady 
from  the  West,  whose  son  was  a  sick  soldier,  as  a  last 
resort,  got  the  boy  lifted  in  an  ox-cart,  and  came  driv- 
ing up  to  the  depot  as  the  train  pulled  out,  and  finally 
pushed  him  on  the  rear  platform. 

I  will  remark  here,  that  when  we  returned  home 
at  the  close  of  the  war,  we  found  our  beautiful  and 
valued  farm  an  abandoned  plantation,  even  the  cedar 

25 


frees  that  divided  the  fields,  had  been  cut  down,  the 
nice  comfortable  negro  cabins  had  been  dismantled,  as 
also  the  barns  and  outhouses,  the  old  Colonial  brick 
dwelling,  made  of  bricks  brought  from  England,  was 
razed  to  the  ground.  Houses,  cattle,  sheep,  of  course, 
gone,  and  an  apple  orchard  of  choice  apples  destroyed. 

The  refugees,  as  a  general  thing,  were  not  cor- 
dially received  by  the  up-country  people.  We  went  to 
several  places  before  finally  settling,  to  Greensboro, 
Lexington,  and  lastly  to  a  tiny  farm  four  miles  from 
Raleigh.  The  house  was  a  log  cabin,  with  a  shed  and 
low  upsairs  room,  but  we  were  very  thankful  to  get 
to  this  place;  it  was  a  haven  of  rest.  My  beautiful  boy 
had  left  me  ere  this,  succumbing  to  an  attack  of  fever. 
He  was  buried  with  another  baby  boy  in  a  corner  of 
the  cemetery  at  Greensboro.  We  have  never  been  able 
to  find  his  little  body  to  this  day.  We  soon  collected 
comforts  about  us  at  this  country  place,  had  a  nice 
garden,  plenty  of  milk  and  butter.  My  Mother's  room, 
under  the  roof,  partook  of  her  presence,  the  white  table 
was  covered  with  snow-white  dimity,  the  four  window- 
panes  had  a  muslin  curtain,  her  wrapper  and  slippers 
were  near,  and  on  a  stand  by  the  bed,  were  her  well- 
worn  Bible  and  Hymnal.  Many  a  pleasant  hour  I  spent 
with  her  there,  her  sweet  individuality  pervading 
every  space.  She  had  nothing  left  but  her  prayers, 
which  were  offered  to  God  three  times  a  day,  and 
always  in  the  gloaming.  We  had  constant  communi- 
cation with  Raleigh,  the  news  of  terrible  battles  in 
which  our  nearest  and  dearest  were  either  wounded  or 
killed,  kept  up  very  unhappy.  It  was  hard  to  get  pro- 
visions, everything  that  could  be  spared  was  sent  to 
the  army.     Both  your  Grandmothers  were  kept  busy 

26 


knitting  socks  for  the  soldiers,  we  cut  up  carpets  for 
blankets,  and  sent  blankets  also,  and  used  comforta- 
hles  in  their  place;  boxes  went  off  every  day  finlled 
with  necessary  things  for  our  boys. 

I  made  a  good  deal  of  money  of  which  I  was  very 
proud.  I  had  several  suits  of  brown  woolen  goods  for 
gentlemen's  wear  made  in  my  own  loom.  I  had  a 
present  of  a  number  of  bolts  of  yellow  homespun  from 
the  Rockfish  factory,  which  I  exchanged  to  great  ad- 
vantage. I  made  neckties  and  other  fancy  things  and 
sold  them,  and  often  had  several  thousand  dollars  of 
Confederate  money  in  my  purse.  I  cut  up  a  Marshal 
sash  and  made  money  out  of  that.  I  had  a  shoe  last 
^nd  made  my  little  daughter  many  pairs  of  shoes  out 
of  goat  skins,  bound  with  ribbon. 

One  night,  we  had  quite  an  experience  in 
our  country  home.  My  Mother  came  from  her 
room  above  and  said  there  were  strange  noises 
in  the  yard,  the  negroes  were  singing  "Hurrah! 
Hurrah!  We  are  free!  We  are  free!"  We  sprang  out 
of  bed  very  much  frightened,  dressed  ourselves,  made 
a  fifire  in  the  huge  chimney  place  and  anxiously  waited 
for  what  was  to  come.  We  peeped  out  of  the  narrow 
window,  and  there,  sure  enough,  were  many  negroes 
singing  and  dancing  around  the  fire,  with  every  dem- 
onstration of  joy,  and  every  little  while  we  heard  the 
fife  and  drum.  Our  feelings  cannot  be  described.  I 
looked  at  my  daughter  sleeping  so  peacefully  in  her 
crib  and  thought  that  before  morning  the  last  of  my 
race  would  be  swept  away;  at  my  patient  invalid 
Mother,  what  a  death  for  her  to  die!  and  perhaps  that 
very  night,  none  of  us  would  be  left  to  tell  the  tale. 
But  the  night  of  horror  wore  on —  and  the  morning 

27 


dawned  peaceful  and  bright  with  no  evidence  of  the 
mortal  agony  we  had  endured.  We  found  that  the 
negroes  had  been  having  an  unusual  time  with  some 
of  the  neighboring  people  and  the  supposed  drum  and 
fife  was  the  creaking  of  the  well  bucket. 

We  had  plenty  of  company  in  our  refugee  home, 
friends  would  fifind  us  out;  and  conversation  was  of 
the  war  and  its  consequences.  Our  most  frequent  vis- 
itor was  Fred,  or  Freddie,  as  every  member  of  his 
family  called  him.  He  was  your  Father's  youngest 
brother,  a  lovely  intelligent  lad  of  16;  his  greatest 
recreation  was  to  play  backgammon  with  Mother.  He 
had  been  sent  to  Col.  Tew's  school  at  Hillsboro  and  the 
hard  barracks  life  was  too  much  for  his  delicate  con- 
stitution; he  needed  remedies  which  could  not  be  had 
in  the  Confederacy  for  we  were  strongly  blockaded 
then.  He  then  went  to  Chapel  Hill,  the  last  of  eight 
brothers  who  had  graduated  there  with  distinction. 
His  health  failed  rapidly,  but  so  anxious  was  he  to 
continue  his  studies  that  none  realized  his  condition 
until  his  friend  wrote  of  it.  He  came  home  and  con- 
tinued lessons  under  dear  old  Doctor  Mason,  and  it  was 
then  we  saw  so  much  of  him.    ' 

The  War  seemed  to  derange  every  part  of  society, 
death  and  carnage  in  the  army,  sickness  and  losses  at 
home. 

LETTER  X. 

DEAR  CHILDREN:— About  this  time,  we  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  in  Raleigh  a  small  house  of  four 
rooms;  we  built  a  log  pantry  and  rented  a  kitchen  on 
the  next  lot.  You  could  hardly  believe  how  much  com- 
pany we  entertained  there;  an  extra  bed  was  put  in 

28 


the  parlor  on  many  occasions.  While  we  were  at  our 
country  home  a  pathetic  incident  had  happened. 
Scarlet  fever  broke  out  and  many,  both  white  and 
black,  died.  I  was  sitting  by  the  fire  in  our  cabin  when 
Oily,  a  very  good  servant,  came  in  the  room  with  a 
sick  baby  in  her  arms;  it  grew  rapidly  worse,  and  as 
I  took  it  from  her,  the  breath  left  its  little  body.  I 
was  completely  unnerved;  my  little  son  had  been  taken 
away  and  the  girl  was  a  delicate  baby  and  T  knew  how 
deadly  a  disease  scarlet  fever  was.  I  had  the  carriage 
ordered,  put  a  few  things  in  a  traveling  bag,  took 
nurse  and  baby  and  started  away,  1  knew  not  whither; 
toward  dark  we  drew  up  at  a  country  place  near  Wake 
Forest  where  my  aunt  was  refugeeing.  Before  de- 
scending from  the  carriage,  I  told  her  from  what  T 
was  fleeing,  but  before  I  could  finish,  her  big  heart 
opeued,  her  big  arms  took  us  in,  and  we  were  welcome. 

We  bought  a  barrel  of  sugar  and  some  pounds 
of  coffee,  which  we  doled  out  very  carefully,  using 
sorghum — the  very  taste  is  distasteful  to  me — and 
mixing  parched  rye  and  sweet  potatoes  with  the  coffee. 

We  had  so  many  relations  and  friends  in  the  army 
that  we  were  always  anxious.  Georgie,  who  was  next 
older  than  Freddie,  was  especially  attractive.  He 
graduated  at  Chapel  Hill  in  1860,  and  was  offered  a 
Greek  tutorship,  which  he  accepted.  He  was  only 
eighteen  years  old,  his  only  thought  was  books  and 
religion;  he  cared  nothing  for  politics,  and  intended 
to  study  for  the  Episcopal  ministry.  But  the  cruel 
war  had  to  take  him,  as  it  did  thousands  of  our  brav- 
est and  best.  George  was  made  a  captain  in  the  2nd 
N.  C.  Cavalry  and  fought  gallantly  until  he  lost  his 
life  in  the  summer  of  1864.    Never  shall  I  forget  that 

29 


dreadful  day  when  the  telegram  came  announcing  that 
he  fell  leading  his  men,  and  with  the  last  words :  l '  I  am 
Killed,  boys,  I  wish  I  could  live  to  take  those  works." 
Before  this,  George  was  taken  prisoner  in  a  skirmish 
around  Fredericksburg;  he  received  a  severe  wound  in 
the  head  and  was  left  on  the  field  for  dead;  after  a 
while  it  rained  and  he  recovered,  crawled  under  a 
stone  wall  and  was  there  captured  by  a  Federal  sol- 
dier. He  was  taken  to  Washington  and  put  in  prison. 
He  suffered  much  with  his  wound;  some  Southern 
ladies  there  were  very  kind  to  him  and  sent  him  flow- 
ers, which  were  a  great  pleasure  to  him. 

After  several  months  he  was  taken  out  and  sent  to 
Johnson's  Island,  a  bleak  inhospitable  place  on  Lake 
Erie.  The  prison  was  made  of  boards  placed  up  and 
down  and  the  cold  winds  whistled  through  the  cracks. 
He  would  have  frozen  but  for  a  warm  overcoat  sent 
him  through  the  lines,  which  he  wore  night  and  day. 
In  the  middle  of  the  room  in  which  he  slept  there  was 
a  small  stove.  Some  of  the  prisoners  sat  on  the  bench 
nearest  the  stove,  another  set  of  prisoners  sat  on  a 
bench  a  little  removed,  and  the  third  walked  around 
to  keep  from  freezing;  they  would  alternate  so  as  to 
let  each  one  have  some  warmth.  If  there  was  an  un- 
usually warm  spell  of  weathr,  the  men  made  pillows 
of  sticks  and  wood,  which  in  colder,  were  burned.  The 
fare  was  miserable.  I  was  told  by  a  soldier  that  he 
saw  two  Confederate  soldiers  fight  over  a  bone  until 
one  killed  the  other;  lives  were  sacrificed  needlessly 
in  many  ways  in  those  days.  After  nine  months, 
George  was  exchanged,  and  his  coming  home  was  a 
time  of  heartfelt  rejoicing.  One  could  well  be  proud 
of  this  handsome  soldier,  so  tall  and  straight  in  his 

30 


Confederate  uniform;  the  gold  bands,  brass  buttons, 
and  waving  black  plumes  in  the  hat,  made  the  costume 
complete.  We  reverently  lifted  the  brown  hair  and 
looked  at  the  cruel  wound.  Coming  to  the  warm 
climate  soon  affected  the  wound  and  we  begged  in  vain 
that  some  home  appointment  be  given  him  until  the 
summer  was  over,  but  he  was  sent  to  the  front.  He 
went  into  battle  on  August  16th,  1864;  he  mounted  his 
black  horse  and  rode  to  death.  His  remains  were 
buried  on  some  man's  farm,  six  miles  from  Richmond. 
There  in  the  corner  of  the  fence  with  only  his  oilcloth 
around  him,  with  only  the  birds  to  sing  a  requiem  and 
the  leaves  to  wave  in  pity,  lies  one  of  the  bravest  hearts 
that  ever  offered  up  his  life  for  a  true  but  lost  cause. 

LETTER  XL 

DEAR  CHILDREN:— One  warm  day  in  April,  a 
great  many  ladies  and  children  were  assembled  in  the 
public  square  in  Raleigh,  near  the  Capitol,  all  anxious 
to  hear  the  news;  disquieting  rumors  reached  us —  it 
was  impossible  to  remain  at  home.  Suddenly  there 
was  a  commotion,  some  one  said  "It  is  reported  that 
Lee  has  surrendered" — such  consternation  on  the 
fases  of  the  people,  then  as  the  news  became  more 
general,  such  weeping  and  wringing  of  hands,  such 
heavy  hearts — privation,  sorrow,  death,  defeat  and 
poverty. 

There  had  been  a  terrible  battle  at  Gettysburg, 
and  our  bravest  and  best  were  slain,  like  sheep.  Col- 
onel Hughes,  Harry  Burgwyn,  Jimmie  Howard  and 
numberless  others  were  killed.  Your  Father's  first 
cousin,  General  Pettigrew,  was  killed,  James  and  Sam 
Biddle  had  been  in  many  terrible  battles,  everything 

31 


was  very  sad;  the  skies  were  gloomy,  the  sun  shone 
through  a  mist,  a  dark  pall  enveloped  the  land — the 
land  of  sunshine  and  flowers. 

Our  Junior  Eeserves  were  ordered  out,  boys  of  six- 
teen. I  lost  heart  then;  it  was  pitiful  to  see  the  dear 
little  fellows,  hopeful  and  glad,  marching  to  the  tune 
of  Dixie — alas!  so  many  of  them  to  death. 

Raleigh  was  now  filled  with  wounded  and  disabled 
soldiers ;  the  churches  and  every  available  space  turned 
into  hospitals.  I  did  what  I  could,  but  it  seemed  noth- 
ing. The  Episcopal  church  being  nearer  to  me,  I  went 
there  mostly;  many  poor  men  were  on  the  benches, 
some  in  high  delirium,  some  in  the  agony  of  death.  A 
young  soldier  passed  away,  none  knew  his  name  or 
home;  as  the  coffin  lid  was  being  screwed  down,  a  dear 
old  lady  pressed  her  lips  to  his  brow,  and  said,  "Let 
me  kiss  him  for  his  Mother. ' '  Every  heart  responded 
and  all  eyes  were  filled  with  tears.  Volumes  of  heart- 
rending and  pathetic  incidents  could  be  written  of  our 
four  years'  cruel  war.  Although  we  were  becoming 
less  hopeful,  yet  the  Fall  of  the  Confederacy  was  un- 
expected at  the  last. 

Soon  our  troops  began  to  pass  through,  weary, 
dirty  fellows,  and  hungry  also,  every  one  that  could, 
fed  them;  they  could  not  stop  but  in  passing,  we  stood 
at  the  gate  and  handed  them  bread  and  ham;  they 
were  marching  to  the  tune  of  Dixie,  the  war  song  that 
we  vainly  thought  was  to  lead  them  to  victory.  Our 
soldiers  retreated  towards  Hillsboro,  the  Federal  sol- 
diers pursuing.  One  reckless  Confederate  soldier  from 
Texas  was  in  the  rear  guard ;  he  fired  on  a  Yankee  sol- 
dier, so  close  were  the  pursuers  to  the  pursued.  After 
firing  he  turned  and  put  spurs  to  his  horse,  but  unfor- 


tunately,  his  horse  stumbled,  and  he  was  captured. 
The  next  morning,  under  a  guard  of  soldiers,  he  was 
carried  by  our  home,  (I  looked  on  with  anguished 
heart)  to  the  grove  back  of  your  Grandfather's,  and 
hung  to  the  limb  of  a  huge  tree,  under  which  your 
uncles  and  aunts  had  played  in  childhood.  It  was  a 
gloomy,  rainy  night  when  the  Federal  troops  and  bum- 
mers entered  Raleigh.  About  midnight  I  had  a  call 
to  the  room  in  which  my  sick  mother  was  staying.  In 
answering  I  had  to  pass  through  an  entry  that  had  in 
it  a  glass  door.  I  glanced  towards  the  glass  door,  and 
there  peeping  in  was  one  of  the  most  repulsive  looking 
red-haired  creatures  I  ever  saw.  I  was  so  frightened  I 
could  hardly  stand,  and  I  can't  remember  to  this  day 
which  room  I  reached  first. 

A  very  old  lady  refugeed  from  here  during  the 
war,  was  far  away  at  a  little  village  at  the  head  waters 
of  the  Neuse.  One  day  she  was  sadly  walking  by  the 
stream  when  she  saw  a  leaf  borne  swiftly  on  its  cur- 
rent toward  the  home  of  her  love.  She  went  to  the 
little  cottage,  and  wrote  a  long  piece  of  poetry  about 
the  incident,  I  quote  two  verses: 

"A  leaf  upon  the  flowing  tide  may  pass  unheeded 

by  my  side, 
So  though  I  know  its  floating  free  may  reach  the 

spot  so  dear  to  me, 
Securely  there,  without  a  fear  of  hostile  man  or 

winter  drear, 
May  nestle  in  the  silver  sand  that  covers  dear  old 

Neuse 's  strand. 

Oh,  let  me  once  again  behold  our  homes  endeared 

33 


to  us  of  old, 
The  temple  consecrate  to  Thee    where    we    may 

breathe  with  spirits  free, 
To  seek  the  peace  for  us  in  store  and  worship  there 

in  truth  once  more, 
The  old  familiar  paths  to  tread  and  lay  us  by  our 

sleeping  dead." 

"We  had  begun  to  get  quite  comfortably  fixed  in 
our  refugee  home,  when  Raleigh  was  captured.  Of 
course  we  asked  for  a  guard  or  our  house  would  have 
been  sacked.  As  it  was,  everything  was  taken  that 
possibly  could  be.  Our  fine  cow  was  killed  and  only 
a  steak  cut  from  her  side;  the  horse  was  killed  also 
and  a  little  colt  left  which  we  fed  from  a  bottle.  I  held 
on  to  my  garden  and  gave  your  Father  $10  which  I  had 
sold  vegetables  for,  to  return  to  New  Bern  on.  Mr.  John 
0.  Washington,  of  Kinston,  an  old  and  influential  cit- 
izen, had  been  put  in  jail,  and  the  first  thing  your  fath- 
er did  after  reaching  home  was  to  secure  his  release. 
We  returned  home  in  '65  and  such  hand-shaking  and 
thankfulness  to  meet  after  all  we  had  gone  through! 
So  many  missing  faces,  so  many  vacant  places,  so  much 
poverty,  and  hardship,  yet  so  many  thankful  hearts 
that  our  lives  were  spared. 

Everybody  adjusted  themselves  to  their  changed 
circumstances  and  went  to  work  to  repair  their  shat- 
tered fortunes.  The  after  effects  were  as  trying  as  the 
war  itself,  the  disgusting  Reconstruction  period  was 
a  disgrace  to  all  concerned.  We  submitted  to  the  in- 
evitable, the  freeing  of  our  slaves,  the  ruthless  destruc- 
tion of  our  dearly  loved  plantations,  the  pillage  of  our 


homes,  and  then  all  we  asked  was  to  be  let  alone  and 
rebuild  as  our  judgment  told  us  was  for  the  best. 

Reconstruction  times  as  you  may  well  know,  was 
trying  to  men's  souls,  "getting  back  into  the  Union" 
was  a  favorite  expression,  and  in  some  ways  these 
times  were  worse  even  than  the  war. 

The  Ku  Klux  organization  was  a  power  for  good  in 
our  land.  Their  allegiance  was  to  the  Caucasian  race, 
and  "Mothers  and  daughters  were  their  patron 
saints." 

I  took  great  interest  in  one  young  man.  He  was 
a  fine  looking  fellow  and  was  much  in  love  with  a 
cousin  of  mine.  He  was  fearless  and  bold  like  most  of 
our  dear  Southern  boys,  and  was  a  member  of  this 
organization.  In  some  way  he  was  captured,  tried  and 
convicted  by  a  bogus  court  held  during  these  times, 
and  sent  to  a  Xorthern  prison.  His  feet  were  manacled 
and  he  was  put  to  hard  labor.  He  remained  several 
years.  When  he  returned  to  his  native  State, 
he  lived  a  life  of  usefulness  and  honor,  until  called  to 
his  reward.  The  loving  inscription  on  his  tomb-stone 
in  the  cemetery  in  Raleigh,  attests  how  dear  he  was  to 
the  hearts  of  the  people,  and  Randolph  Shotwell's  name 
will  not  be  forgotten. 

LETTER  XII. 

DEAR  CHILDREN:—  Before  closing  these  crude 
reminiscences,  I  must  tell  you  a  little  of  the  Colonial 
times  of  our  ancient  parish  and  dear  old  town.  I  went 
to  Fort  Barnwell,  and  in  some  barrels  that  had  been 
stored  away  in  the  garret  for  many,  many  years,  I 
found  many  old  letters  and  interesting  documents, 
commissions  given  by  Colonial  Governors  Tryon,  Mar- 

35 


tin,  and  Arthur  Dobbs,  old  wills,  bills  of  sale,  orders 
for  goods  from  England,  everything  in  pounds,  shil- 
lings and  pence;  letters  from  attorneys  in  Boston  and 
all  sorts  of  interesting  matter  which  gives  us  an  in- 
sight, which  could  not  be  obtained  in  any  other  way, 
of  the  manner  in  which  our  forefathers  lived,  occupied 
their  time,  and  finally  died. 

In  Colonial  times  the  Clermont  plantation  was 
very  celebrated.  It  was  first  owned  by  a  Madam 
Moore  who  had  been  married  three  times.  She  boasted 
that  the  first  marriage  was  for  honor,  the  second  for 
money,  and  the  third  for  love.  She  was  a  great 
"swell"  and  the  house  in  which  she  lived,  and  of 
whose  destruction  I  have  already  told  you,  was  a  very 
grand  affair.  She  rowed  to  town  in  a  boat  manned  by 
six  slaves  dressed  in  livery;  she  occupied  a  stall  in 
the  Episcopal  Church,  and  had  as  her  guests,  Wash- 
ington and  Monroe.  On  the  place  are  buried  two  of 
our  governors,  father  and  son — the  Spaights. 

Just  after  our  return  to  New  Bern  we  were  told 
of  a  dream  had  by  a  Federal  soldier,  which  was  very 
peculiar  to  say  the  least.  The  soldier  had  just  arrived 
from  the  North,  and  had  never  seen  that  part  of  the 
country  or  heard  of  that  particular  place.  He  saw  the 
brick  house  clearly  before  his  eyes  and  was  told  to 
go  there,  descend  to  the  cellar,  advance  to  the  fireplace, 
look  for  a  loose  brick  behind  which  he  would  find  a 
key — at  this  point  his  dream  was  interrupted,  but  so 
impressed  was  he  by  what  he  had  dreamed,  that  he 
obtained  permission  from  the  officer  in  charge,  and 
went  to  the  old  mansion,  went  in  the  cellar,  found  the 
loose  brick  and  took  from  behind  it  a  key.  What  did 
he  find!    In  those  Colonial  days,  there  were  no  banks, 

36 


and  the  supposition  is  that  the  key  unlocked  a  strong- 
box sunk  beneath  the  bricks  which  formed  the  floor  of 
the  cellar;  it  was  often  the  custome  to  have  some  place 
for  valuables  and  gold.  The  soldier  however,  was  un- 
successful in  locating  the  strong  box. 

In  visiting  the  old  Simpson  burial  ground  in  Pitt 
county  a  few  years  ago,  I  was  much  interested  in  exam- 
ining an  old  house  near  by;  it  is  now  inhabited  by 
negroes;  it  is  a  very  quaint  affair  and  was  occupied 
during  Colonial  times  by  some  officer  of  the  English 
Government  who  had  charge  of  the  funds.  One  side  of 
the  house  was  almost  entirely  brick,  having  two  very 
large  chimneys,  and  not  being  divided  until  nearly  to 
the  roof,  near  the  top  were  the  letters  I.  H.  S.  in  black 
brick;  the  chimneys  extended  into  the  earth  and  con- 
tained large  closets  securely  fastened.  The  I.  H.  S. 
denoted  that  the  building  was  used  for  a  chapel. 

There  is  a  miniature  which  I  often  gaze  at  as  it 
recalls  a  love  story  of  the  ancient  days  when  New  Bern 
was  a  small  village,  and  the  Academy  the  seat  of 
learning. 

Eliza  Cray,  who  lived  at  Fort  Barnwell,  was  vis- 
iting in  this  town.  She  was  engaged  to  a  young  man 
named  Barron,  who  was  her  sweetheart  from  childhood. 
Staying  in  the  same  house  in  which  she  was  visiting, 
was  an  artist,  who  had  come  to  the  South  to  spend  the 
winter  for  his  health ;  he  thought  Eliza  was  so  exceed- 
ingly beautiful  that  he  painted  her  miniature  by 
stealth,  and  afterwards  enlarged  it  to  a  full  length  por- 
trait and  placed  it  in  front  of  his  studio  in  New  York. 
Eliza  and  Mr.  Barron  were  married,  a  big  old-fashioned 
country  wedding,  long  to  be  remembered.  In  a  few 
months  Eliza  died  and  the  broken-hearted  husband 

37 


was  persuaded  to  travel.  In  the  course  of  his  wander- 
ings, he  landed  in  New  York,  and  walking  down 
Broadway  came  upon  this  picture  of  his  dear  wife; 
nature  gave  way,  he  fainted  on  the  side-walk,  and  it 
was  some  time  before  he  revived  sufficiently  to  be 
taken  to  his  place  of  abode. 

Brice  Creek,  a  beautiful  meandering  stream,  flows 
into  the  Trent  just  above  the  town,  it  is  named  for  a 
man;  named  Brice.  A  traitor,  covenanted  to  sell  the 
place  on  a  certain  day;  had  a  last  interview  with  the 
Indians  in  a  hut  across  the  river,  on  the  land  where 
now  rests  the  bones  of  two  of  our  Governors;  the  night 
was  dark  and  rainy,  fit  night  for  such  a  dastardly  deed. 
The  man  had  completed  the  bargain,  the  Indians  si- 
lently left  to  prepare  for  the  massacre,  of  the  unsus- 
pecting inhabitants.  A  little  white  boy  who  had  often 
been  employed,  lay  on  the  floor,  supposedly  asleep,  but 
he  heard  all  that  was  said.  As  soon  as  they  slept,  he 
stole  quietly  out,  and  jumping  into  a  row  boat,  made 
his  way  quickly  to  the  town,  told  the  people  and  thus 
saved  them. 

There  is  a  legend  of  a  white  girl  who  was  stolen 
by  the  Indians  from  her  home  on  the  banks  of  the 
Neuse,  when  a  little  thing,  and  all  efforts  to  regain  her 
were  fruitless.  Years  afterwards  a  sad,  weary-looking 
woman,  with  a  baby  in  her  arms  would  come  to  the 
meadow  above  the  town  and  gaze  wistfully  upon  the 
town.  When  approached,  she  would  flee.  This  woman 
was  supposed  to  have  been  the  stolen  child.  This  was 
about  1765. 

Just  after  the  Revolution,  when  peace  had  been 
declared,  and  everybody  felt  very  happy  that  the  long 
struggle  was  over  and  peace  and  prosperity  reigned 

3S 


in  our  beloved  land,  General  George  Washington  made 
a  tour  of  the  South.  He  arrived  at  Tarboro,  and  Gen- 
eral Samuel  Simpson  was  ordered  by  General  Thomas 
Blount  "to  take  a  troop  of  horse"  and  escort  him  to 
New  Bern.  This  was  done  and  his  journey  was  a  per- 
fect ovation  everywhere  he  went.  Among  other  at- 
tractions, a  ball  was  given  him  at  the  Gaston  House, 
and  the  dancing  and  merry  jests  continued  until  dawn. 

John  Simpson,  a  son  of  the  sturdy  old  General 
John,  who  had  done  so  much  to  aid  the  Eevolution, 
took  a  severe  cold  from  sitting  on  the  piazza  in  the 
cold  wind  blowing  from  the  river,  and  died  after  a 
few  days  illness. 

I  found  a  letter  from  General  Blount  in  the  same 
attic  to  which  I  have  before  alluded.  On  the  back  in 
pencil  were  the  twelve  toasts  drank  on  that  occasion. 
Although  so  many  years  have  elapsed,  the  writing  is 
perfectly  legible.  And  from  the  same  source,  a  few 
months  ago,  was  found  in  a  red  leather  case,  a  lock  of 
auburn  hair,  a  wedding  ring  and  the  marriage  certi- 
ficate of  Penelope  Mcllvain,  dated  1785. 

I  am  much  impressed  in  traveling  over  this  part 
of  the  country  at  the  number  of  country  graveyards — 
every  large  plantation  has  one.  I  can  but  think  that 
Gray  had  them  in  his  mind  when  he  wrote  his  "Elegy." 

LETTER  XIII. 

DEAR  CHILDREN:— I  wish  to  tell  you  a  little 
more  about  Colonial  times,  away  back,  before  the  War 
of  1776. 

In  the  twilight  of  a  calm  December  day  in  1709 
several  small  vessels  having  passed  Roanoke  Islands, 

39 


famed  in  song  and  story,  as  being  the  landing  place  of 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  came  to  anchor  on  a  long,  narrow 
strip  of  land,  lying  in  peaceful  beauty  between  two 
majestic  rivers.  The  willow,  oak,  cedar  covered  with 
climbing  jessamine  and  bamboo,  and  hanging  moss, 
smiled  a  welcome  to  these  homeless  people.  They 
thanked  God  as  the  Pilgrims  of  Plymouth  had  done, 
for  this  free  heritage,  and  set  to  work  to  build  houses, 
make  gardens,  till  the  soil,  and  worship  God. 

For  awhile  things  went  well  with  these  hardy  set 
tiers,  driven  by  religious  persecution  to  America  from 
Germany  and  Switzerland,  and  so  pleased  were  they 
with  their  new  home,  that  they  named  the  little  village 
New  Berne,  after  Berne,  their  native  home  in  the  Alps. 
But  afterwards  the  Indians,  who  had  been  friendly, 
became  jealous  and  one  day  in  September,  the  second 
year  of  their  coming,  fell  upon  them  with  tomahawks 
and  an  ax  and  well-nigh  exterminated  the  entire  com- 
munity. King  Taylor,  an  Indian  of  the  Chattawka 
Tribe  owned  the  land  on  which  the  town  is  built,  and 
was  a  most  blood  thirsty  savage. 

About  that  time  Lawson,  the  surveyor,  was 
burned.  Then  de  GrafTenried  was  captured  and  car- 
ried to  the  interior  to  be  put  to  death.  But  a  a  band 
on  which  was  a  coat  of  arms  and  a  golden  star  saved 
his  life.  The  superstitious  savages  took  it  as  some 
kingly  symbol  and  liberated  him.  Listen  to  what  he 
says  of  his  escape:  "I  had  to  foot  it  homeward,  quite 
lame,  shivering  with  cold,  nearly  dead,  my  legs  so 
stiff  and  swollen  I  could  not  walk  a  step,  but  support- 
ing myself  on  two  sticks.  At  last  I  arrived  at  my  small 
home  in  New  Bern." 

Worn  out  out  with  mental  and  physical  suffering, 
40 


De  GrafTenried  returned  to  his  native  Alps  to  end  his 
days.  After  a  while  the  village  took  on  new  life  and 
began  to  flourish,  trade,  commerce  and  agriculture  soon 
raised  it  to  a  place  of  importance. 

About  the  middle  of  the  century  the  Royal  Gov- 
ernors made  this  the  capital  and  the  Assembly  con- 
vened here.  But  it  was  in  the  days  of  Tryon  that  New 
Bern  reached  its  zenith  of  social  brilliancy.  Tryon  had 
the  people  heavily  taxed  to  build  a  palace,  one  wing 
of  which  remains  to  the  present  day.  Tryon 's  wife 
and  sister,  Esther  Wake,  were  society  queens  and 
for  the  upper  classes  it  was  the  golden  days 
of  the  Colonial  period,  and  while  the  people  were 
groaning  under  the  unjust  taxation,  revelry  and  mirth 
held  high  carnival  in  the  palace.  Dainty  dames 
and  gay  cavaliers  walked  with  stately  tread  though 
the  reel  or  minuet.  The  merry  making  was  also  in  the 
houses  of  the  wealthy  merchants  and  planters.  In 
some  the  service  was  sumptuous,  massive  silver  plates 
having  been  brought  from  England.  A  lady  would 
ride  in  her  coach  driven  by  liveried  servants  and  some 
went  in  chairs  borne  by  footmen. 

This  palace  of  which  there  has  been  so  much  written, 
was  burned  by  an  old  negro  woman  who  went  into  the 
cellar  to  hunt  for  eggs.  One  wing  remianed  and  in  it 
was  housed  General  Washington's  horse  when  he  was 
here  in  1791. 

Many  of  the  hip-roof  dwellings  still  remain,  many 
of  the  same  trees  that  shaded  our  forefathers  shade 
us,  and  the  same  walks  which  we  take  in  safety  they 
took  often  in  fear  and  trembling.  The  old  town  has 
passed  through  eras  of  prosperity,  and  of  disaster, 
the  church  towers  still  point  to  Heaven  now  as  they 

41 


did  then,  as  the  one  only  real  source  of  cvomfort.  Some 
days  are  bright  and  some  gloomy  for  us  as  it  was  for 
them. 

"So  the  multitude  goes,  like  the  flowers  or  the 

weed — 
That  withers  away  to  let  others  succeed, 
So  the  multitude  comes,  even  those  we  behold, 
To  repeat  every  tale  that  has  often  been  told." 

"For  we  are  the  same  our  Fathers  have  been, 
We  see  the  same  sights  our  Fathers  have  seen, 
"We  drink  the  same  stream,  and  vein  the  same  sun, 
And  run  the  same  course  our  Fathers  have  run. ' ' 

LETTER  XIV. 

DEAR  CHILDREN:— And  now  I  have  left  the 
dear  old  room,  and  am  seated  on  the  piazza  in  an  arm 
chair,  which  is  so  old  that  I  cannot  remember. 
Looking  upon  the  beautiful  Neuse  from  my  bamboo 
and  vine-covered  corner,  watching  the  launches  with 
gay  crowds  go  by,  thinking  of  the  olden  times  when 
the  Indian  canoe  danced  gaily  upon  its  waters,  and 
later,  when  Teach,  the  dreadful  pirate,  roamed  up  and 
down  at  his  free  will  and  buried  his  treasures  at  well- 
selected  places  upon  its  banks.  Retribution  overtook 
him  as  it  usually  does  those  who  sin  and  he  was  cap- 
tured in  Pamlico  Sound,  his  head  severed  from  his 
body  and  hung  on  the  bowsprit  of  a  vessel. 

I  look  at  the  wall  built  of  brick  brought  from 
England,  which  encloses  the  yard,  at  the  huge  syca- 
more in  the  corner,  under  which  the  Indians  held 
Council  before  committing  savage  depredations  upon 

42 


the  innocent  people,  and  I  think  as  the  silvery  leaves 
bloom  and  fall  year  after  year  what  a  story  they  could 
tell  of  by-gone  days!. 

Every  piece  of  furniture  in  the  house  is  connected 
with  a  sentiment  of  some  kind,  some  period  of  self- 
denial,  the  memory  of  some  loved  one.  Something  in 
the  desk,  the  Bible  and  pictures  too,  bring  up  sweet 
thoughts  of  the  past.  Each  tree  in  the  yard  has  a 
history,  the  honey-suckle,  whose  perfume  I  breathe, 
now  covers  an  old  cedar  tree  that  has  been  the  home 
of  a  mocking  bird  for  years;  the  mimosa,  crape  myrtle, 
each  have  a  tale  to  tell;  the  wildcherry  tree,  with  its 
crimson  blossoms  growing  from  a  seed  dropped  by  a 
bird  in  passing,  is  now  as  tall  as  the  roof,  and  as  I 
look  up  the  walk,  I  see  a  curly  headed  grandson  with 
his  dog,  Eollo,  coming  to  wish  me  good-night,  and  I 
feel  that  life  has  been  full  of  good  things  for  me,  in 
spite  of  the  awful  war  and  its  attending  miseries. 

I  could  go  on  forever,  dear  Children  with  these 
memories  of  the  past  and  hopes  for  the  future,  but  the 
twilight  is  approaching,  the  moon  and  stars  will  soon 
be  reflected  in  the  silvery  water,  and  the  bells  are  call- 
ing for  worship  in  the  dear  old  churches,  so  wishing 
you  all  the  blessings  of  this  life,  I  will  cease  my  Recol- 
lections of  Dixie. 


43 


